


That's All We Got

by draculard



Category: American Horror Story: 1984
Genre: Angst, F/F, Ficlet, Fluff, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, It's my 200th fic yall, Post Prison Breakout, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 08:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21443233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: It's been five years since Donna last saw Brooke, and she can't help feeling responsible for the changes she sees.
Relationships: Donna Chambers/Brooke Thompson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	That's All We Got

There’s only one bed in the hotel room.

And that’s fine, Donna supposes. After five years in prison, she doubts Brooke will kick up a big fuss about privacy. Still, she feels a little apologetic, a little awkward, as though the hotel’s lack of adequate rooms is somehow her fault.

As if Brooke’s presence here in the first place is her fault.

As if the whole ordeal at the camp — and Brooke being framed because no one spoke up for her — and those five long years in prison were all her fault. 

Okay, there’s no use dwelling on past misdeeds. Brooke doesn’t seem to blame her, so Donna shoves it all out of her head. The feeling of awkwardness is harder to displace; it hangs over her head like the sword of Damocles, casting a bigger and bigger shadow as the night wears on. 

Sometime past midnight when they’ve been staring silently at the staticky TV for hours, eyelids itching, Brooke stands without a word and stretches by the side of the bed. She rummages through the suitcase Donna supplied for her, locates the summer sleepwear she bought at a department store nearby.

She changes there in the room, not turning her back.

_ Right,  _ Donna thinks, eyeing Brooke’s slender waist, her small, pert breasts. Of course, she’d be used to changing her clothes in front of other people. And in front of male guards, and in front of strangers, and in front of other prisoners she doesn’t like. Of course she’d think nothing of this. It shouldn’t be a surprise.

Still, Donna remembers Brooke of 1984, shy and inexperienced and sweet, and can’t help but feel a tightness in her chest, like an echo of the loss she felt when Daddy died. When Brooke is dressed — her legs long and beautiful and pale from so many years locked indoors — she slips into the bed silently, turning the TV off and leaving the radio on with its volume low, without saying good night.

And Donna lies next to her, fully clothed, unable to relax. With the TV off now, all she can do is stare at the ceiling and try to tame her thoughts. Beside her, she feels the change when Brooke’s breathing evens out, becoming deeper, and she feels herself relax in response, if only a little.

The clock on the bedside table reads 1:46 when the lump in Donna’s throat loosens and she whispers, so quiet it’s barely audible to her own ears, “I’m sorry.” She hears a David Bowie song playing softly from the radio — “Five Years,” so fitting it brings the lump right back.

And Brooke, without responding, takes her hand.


End file.
